


never could be sweeter

by lgbtrobed



Category: Community (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Coming Out, Internalized Homophobia, M/M, Mutual Pining, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Pining, Smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-03-15
Updated: 2021-03-18
Packaged: 2021-03-23 18:22:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30059640
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lgbtrobed/pseuds/lgbtrobed
Summary: “So you’re back in town,” she says in a quieter voice. “Don’t you stay in Michigan over the summer? For training?”Troy laughs hollowly and buys some time before answering by taking a long sip through his straw. “Yeah, long story,” he mumbles, because he really, really doesn’t want to get into what he’s doing back in town.Too soon.In a world where Troy never injured himself and is handed the life of his dreams on a silver platter, he still manages to find his way back home.
Relationships: Troy Barnes/Abed Nadir, background jeff/britta - Relationship
Comments: 17
Kudos: 54





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> not sure how long this one is gonna be yet, honestly, we'll see? this was sort of a spontaneous thing but i'll be doing my best to update regularly!! title taken from, and fic semi-inspired by, [this song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=T_eaP31BhtU)
> 
> love you all, hope you enjoy ❤️

Tessie’s is on the outskirts of downtown Riverside, around the corner from Dildopolis and across the road from an empty field. Troy recognizes it as the one where he shotgunned his first beer, gagged on a cigarette once, and spent a few sloppy nights with a few different cheerleaders. (His letter jacket is still ruined from that - some of the grass stains never did come out. It doesn’t really matter anymore. He has a different jacket now, and the field is empty tonight. That’s for the best.)

Tessie’s has a reputation because it’s the only gay bar in town—possibly in the greater Greendale area, actually, he’s not sure. He hasn’t done extensive research. All he knows is he’s only ever heard its name spoken in derison, usually whenever someone started acting too gay.

_Wine coolers, Troy? You might as well be on your knees at Tessie’s._

Its reputation precedes it, is what he realizes once he’s actually inside. It looks like any other small-town bar. Beer on tap, bowls of corn nuts. A few girls with colorful hair and a lot of piercings are shooting pool in the corner, one of the booths is occupied by a group of gruff, bearded guys in flannels and trucker hats. Troy thinks they’re called bears, in the gay lexicon, but he’s not certain.

Again, no extensive research.

There’s a baseball game playing on one of the two TVs behind the bar, _Ru Paul’s Drag Race_ playing on the other. That’s the only indication, Troy’s pretty sure, that this is a gay bar at all. That, a couple different rainbow flags draped up on the walls, and the bartender talking his ear off about a paper she’s writing for her Queer Studies class. It’s something about bi versus pansexuality, transphobia and gender binaries and other words that Troy’s never heard and doesn’t understand. She’s been really nice to him tonight, though, so he tries to seem like he’s paying attention. A couple nods and hums here and there as he chews on his straw seems to suffice.

She pauses in the middle of her spiel when she notices his glass is empty.

“Another 7 and 7?” She offers. Troy looks between her face and the glass a couple times before sighing and pushing it forward.

“Sure,” he says with a weak smile. “Thanks, Britta.”

She takes his glass, and he watches her idly as she mixes him a new drink.

She’s very pretty. Blonde with blue eyes and nice lips and cool clothes. Kind of heavy makeup, but not in a bad way. Nice body, too. She’s exactly the type of girl that he’s tried, so hard for his entire life, to want. She’s exactly the type of girl that he’s _pretended,_ for his entire life, to like. If this were a frat party, he’d be chatting her up and bringing her drinks. His friends would be watching and they’d whoop and holler at him as he walked out the door with her, and he’d look really cool. 

Really cool, and really straight.

But he’s not at a frat party. He’s alone in a gay bar, so he’s pretty sure he doesn’t have to pretend to like her as anything more than a really nice—loud, but nice—person. He feels both relieved and totally out of his element.

A warm breeze blows in through the front door as a petite, preppy-looking brunette steps inside the bar. She’s trailed by a tall, gangly dude who Troy doesn’t get a good look at before he disappears into the kitchen area. Britta returns with his drink, setting it down in front of him on a fresh napkin.

“Looks like my replacement’s here,” she says, nodding over towards the girl at the door. “I’ve gotta get home to my cats, but it was nice to meet you…” She trails off, realizing apparently at the same time as him that he never actually got around to introducing himself.

“Troy,” he supplies.

“Troy,” she smiles, then taps the edge of the napkin that his drink is sitting on. “This one’s on the house. Jeff?” She calls to the other bartender - a tall, dirty-blonde, decently ripped guy. From what Troy’s seen, he’s spent most of his shift doing shots at the end of the bar with a nerdy-looking bald guy and a Chinese dude in a bowling shirt. He nods to her and knocks back one more shot before bidding his drinking buddies goodnight and heading out behind Britta. Troy catches a glimpse of his hand resting on her lower back just as they step out, and the door shuts behind them.

Good for them, he guesses.

“Troy?” He looks up from staring down into his drink when he hears his name, only to see the brunette bartender approaching him. She steps behind the bar and slides over to where Britta had been standing just a couple minutes before. “Troy Barnes?”

He stares for a moment, trying to place her. She raises an eyebrow, her smile falling just a bit. 

“It’s Annie,” she says, gesturing vaguely towards herself. “Annie Edison, from high school?”

 _Annie Edison,_ Troy turns the name over a couple times in his head as he keeps looking at her. It takes a minute, but eventually it clicks into place.

“Annie Adderall!” He exclaims with a snap of his fingers, pleased with himself for having put it together. Her smile falls completely, but he doesn’t pay much attention to it as he looks her up and down a couple times. “Wow. You look… different.”

“Yeah, well,” she crosses her arms at that, her tone now slightly defiant. “I’m gay, so that crush I had on you in high school was nothing. Just compulsory heterosexuality. So don’t even bother telling me how nice my boobs look now.”

“You had a crush on me?” Troy asks dumbly. He was honestly unaware of that. A lot of girls had crushes on him in high school; it never really meant much. 

Annie’s lips press together into a thin, frustrated line. 

“Anyway,” he glances around their general area, “I’m sitting here in a gay bar, so you might’ve guessed… I’m not into boobs that much, anyway. No matter how nice they are.”

It dawns on him in that moment that he’s never actually said it out loud before, which is surprisingly overwhelming. He thinks Annie might sense something in his demeanor, because her expression softens. 

“So you’re back in town,” she says in a quieter voice. “Don’t you stay in Michigan over the summer? For training?”

Troy laughs hollowly and buys some time before answering by taking a long sip through his straw. “Yeah, long story,” he mumbles, because he really, _really_ doesn’t want to get into what he’s doing back in town. 

Too soon. 

After another minute, he furrows his eyebrows and looks up at her.

“Wait, what about you?” He asks. “You were valedictorian. Shouldn’t you be at… I dunno, Harvard?”

“Yale,” Annie replies dully. She’s taken to wiping down a spot on the bar that already looks clean. “...is where I was supposed to go. But they rescinded my scholarship after my little drug stint, and my mom cut me off when I decided to go to rehab. I didn’t have any money, or backup schools, so… Greendale it was.”

“The community college?” Troy asks. He snorts a little when Annie nods, but when she shoots him a glare, he backs off. “Sorry,” he apologizes. “Just… valedictorian at a community college, seems weird. You could’ve applied to a real school after a year, probably, right?”

Annie stops wiping the bar. 

“Yeah, I could’ve,” she says, looking him in the eye with surprising clarity. “But after my first year at Greendale, I didn’t want to leave. I liked it there. I had friends, for once.”

Troy thinks about that for an awkward moment. He’s not familiar with the concept of not having friends. He’s never been unpopular in his life, but from what he’s seen on TV and those PSAs they used to show in school assemblies, it seems like it sucks.

“...Oh,” is all he eventually says.

“Annie, Garrett’s stuck behind the refrigerator,” a male voice interrupts. Troy cranes his head to look behind Annie and sees the guy she’d walked in with coming out of the kitchen, bar rag thrown over his shoulder and clutching several clean shot glasses in each hand. Annie turns to face him, too.

“Again?” She sighs.

 _...Again?_ Troy thinks. _This has happened before?_

The guy raises his eyebrows and shrugs a little as if to say, _yeah, I don’t know either._

Annie’s shoulders slump and she rubs one hand over her forehead. It’s a little funny, but Troy refrains from laughing. 

“Okay,” she says defeatedly. “I’ll go get the butter.” 

Troy watches as she brushes past the guy and heads into the kitchen. He shoots her an almost apologetic look as she goes.

“Garrett tends to panic when he gets stuck behind things,” the guy says, and it takes Troy a moment to realize that he’s being addressed. There’s no precursor to the conversation, the guy just comes up to the bar and starts stacking the clean glasses he’s holding onto one of the racks. “Annie’s better at calming him down. He finds me robotic and unsettling.”

 _I wonder why,_ Troy thinks, based on the guy’s abrupt conversation style and flat tone of voice.

Up close, he can get a better look at him, much better than the passing glance he’d gotten when he first walked in. All he’d clocked about him then was _tall, skinny, flannel._ Now, seeing more of his defining features, Troy realizes he’s actually pretty good-looking. 

His skin is brown and dotted with freckles, nose kind of hooked, cheekbones sharp enough to cut glass. His hair is dark and just long enough that it curls a bit at the edges, which is actually unreasonably cute. He’s got nice eyebrows, too, and nice lips, and _fine,_ he’s more than pretty good-looking. He’s _really_ good-looking. He’s downright hot.

And then Troy’s heart stops momentarily, because the guy turns his gaze on him, and holy _shit,_ his eyes are pretty. They’re big and brown, framed by nice dark lashes, and there’s a simultaneous warmth and intensity behind them that Troy has no idea how to react to. When they make eye contact, he kind of feels like this guy is staring straight into his soul—but not in a creepy _I see you_ type of way. It’s more like a curious, _who are you?_ type of way, which he can handle.

Troy watches as the guy’s expression morphs from curiosity to confusion, which is when he realizes that he’s just been asked a question, and he has no idea what it was.

“Sorry, what?” He shakes his head a little and breaks eye contact—to focus on the conversation better, and also to cool off. When did he start feeling so hot, anyway?

“I asked who are you, and how do you know Annie,” the guy repeats. It’s kind of blunt, straightforward, and maybe accusatory, but Troy can’t decide on that last one. His tone is hard to read.

“Oh,” he says, choosing to actually answer instead of over-wrinkling his brain about it. “Annie and I went to high school together. I didn’t recognize her at first, actually. She recognized me.”

He doesn’t know why he felt the need to clarify that. But the guy doesn’t seem to care. His eyes widen in what looks like excitement, and he leans forward with his elbows on the bar. 

“High school. So you’re from her origins,” he says thoughtfully, and looks him over a couple times. Troy instinctively sits up straighter, puffs his chest out a little bit. “What’s your name?”

Again, he’s a little taken aback by this guy’s directness, but that seems to just be his style. 

“Uh, Troy,” he answers, and briefly debates putting his hand out, but decides against it. The guy doesn’t exactly seem like the formal handshake type. He keeps his hands in his lap instead. “What’s yours?”

“Troy,” the guy says in that same thoughtful tone. He looks him over one more time, and Troy starts to feel hot again, especially when their eyes briefly make contact and the guy tilts his head a little. “Nice to meet you. I’m Abed.”

  
  


***

  
  


Troy finds himself feeling hotter than ever hours later, when Abed has three fingers inside him with one hand and the other on his hip, keeping him steady on his hands and knees. His jacket is somewhere on the floor, t-shirt bunched up around his waist and his pants shoved down around his ankles— the inability to spread his legs due to that being the main reason that he’s not better balanced. He bites the inside of his cheek to keep from moaning too loud when Abed’s fingers press down, massaging right over his prostate because _fuck,_ he’s never been able to get that deep with his own fingers, and it feels so absurdly good that he’s almost angry at himself for not doing this sooner. 

“You don’t have to be shy,” Abed tells him, lips pressing to the bare skin of his lower back. “Annie sleeps with headphones to block out the street noises. She won’t hear.” His fingers press down on the same spot again and Troy gasps, audibly this time.

“Yeah, like that,” Abed breathes. His free hand wanders a bit, slipping up under Troy’s shirt and roaming over his back. “God, you’re sexy.”

His voice is so low and sincere, Troy aches with want. 

“I’m good,” he pants, swaying his hips for effect as much as he can with his pants still not fully off. “I’m ready.” He hears Abed sigh shakily, fingers slipping carefully out of him before helpfully tugging his jeans off his ankles the rest of the way. Boxers, too.

(And socks, which Troy hadn’t even been thinking of. Probably a good call.)

He pulls his own shirt off, listens to Abed get undressed behind him, and when he pushes inside, it’s all Troy can do not to actually scream. 

It hurts; he’d been expecting that. But he should’ve taken a better look at Abed’s dick before so he’d know _exactly_ what to expect. Because it’s a lot bigger than three fingers. But he doesn’t let on. He just drops his head down, hugs one of the pillows and bites it, moaning roughly as Abed settles over him.

He mentally braces himself for Abed to start moving, but he doesn’t. His lips press against the back of Troy’s shoulder instead, then the side of his neck, one hand gently smoothing down his side and rubbing soothing circles into his hip.

“Relax,” Abed murmurs against his skin; Troy shivers as his hot breath ghosts over the sensitive part of his neck. Abed kisses him there again. “You’re so tight.”

 _That’s a good thing, isn’t it?_ Troy doesn’t know that much about gay sex, or sex at all, but he’s pretty sure tightness is supposed to feel good. He’s heard guys talk about it a bunch, at least. 

Abed shifts inside slightly—not to fuck him, but just to adjust his own position on the bed. Troy makes a small noise of surprise, muffling it with the pillow again.

Abed’s nose nuzzles the back of his neck. “Are you nervous?” He asks quietly.

Troy shakes his head. “No,” he lies. “Just been a while.”

Abed hums in understanding. “Well, it’s okay,” he assures him, lips still pressing kisses all over Troy’s shoulders and neck, wherever he can reach. “I got you.”

Troy melts at those words, and his body untenses slightly. Abed’s soft moan when he does sounds like approval. “Yeah, like that,” Abed encourages him. The hand that he isn’t using to balance on the bed settles on Troy’s waist—a steady, sure handed grip that has Troy relaxing even more.

“Oh,” Abed whispers when Troy is apparently relaxed enough for him to move, when he starts rocking his hips slowly and shallowly. “Fuck. Troy, you feel so _fucking_ good.”

The praise makes his heartbeat pick up slightly, unconsciously spreading his legs wider and arching his back more. Abed’s hips pick up speed, too. He even manages to make Troy flush warmer—because that’s somehow still possible—at the grunting noise he makes as he thrusts in harder. That just happens to be the first time Abed’s cock brushes over his prostate, too. Troy properly moans, forgetting to muffle it in the pillow this time, and Abed’s forehead rests against the back of his shoulder. 

“Oh my god, moan like that again,” Abed requests. “That was so hot.”

Well, who would Troy be to deny such a simple request?

He lets his body go totally pliant, giving himself up for Abed to do whatever he wants. He’s so overwhelmed with it—the way Abed feels inside him, how well he fills him up, how he sounds behind him as he moves harder and faster, his breath puffing hotly over the back of Troy’s neck. 

“Fuck,” Troy moans at a particularly rough thrust, fisting his hands in the material of Abed’s comforter as his eyes practically roll all the way back into his head. His own breaths are desperate and heavy and irregular; it’s hard to remember to breathe when Abed’s pounding him at such a relentless pace now. He doesn’t remember many words either, but Abed seems okay with his current vocabulary: _fuck_ and _yes_ and _more_ and _harder_ and _fuck, fuck me, Abed I’m so close, I think I’m—_

Before he can even finish that thought, Abed’s hand reaches around and wraps around his dick, pumping it a handful of times in time with his thrusts and all of a sudden Troy’s spilling all over Abed’s fist, shaking and sighing as it dribbles onto his thighs and the bed underneath him. 

Abed’s not too far behind. He hastily wipes his hand on the duvet before wrapping that same arm around Troy’s stomach. It feels almost possessive in a way that makes him whine, just as Abed’s hips drive into him one last time and that arm tightens around him, like Abed’s pulling him back, like he needs to be as deep inside him as possible when he cums. 

And Troy doesn’t actually feel it, with the condom and all, but he _definitely_ hears it, the way Abed moans and shudders through his release. It’s kind of a long one, he realizes when a couple shallow thrusts follow that last one, but eventually Abed does go still, breathing out a sigh of relief before slowly, carefully pulling out.

And fuck, that’s a weird sensation, his hole all gaping and empty now, hurting as he clenches around nothing. Weird, but… good. He feels well and thoroughly fucked, which is how all first times should feel, right? He won’t say that out loud. Abed doesn’t know about the whole first time aspect, and he doesn’t need to. That’s what he tells himself as Abed’s tying off the condom and then dropping it in the wastebasket in the corner of the room before coming back to the bed. He looks tired but happy as he slips under the covers and then gives Troy a look that says, _you coming?_ And even if Troy wasn’t far too exhausted and overwhelmed to get up, he wouldn’t say no. He winces a little at the pain in his ass when he moves, but he manages to settle under the covers, head on Abed’s chest. 

He doesn’t say anything, just listens to his heartbeat, which might be too romantic for their situation, but it’s a nice soothing sound, and Abed doesn’t push him away. 

And as he drifts towards unconsciousness, with his body sated and his mind at peace, he can’t help but think that maybe being back in town doesn’t suck quite as much as he’d expected.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> another chapter so soon? yes, because i'd rather do anything besides study, you can thank my medical terminology final for this one ❤️ love you all!

_“I’ve been working here for almost two years, and I don’t think I’ve ever had someone order a 7 and 7,” Abed says. He sets Troy’s glass down in front of him, with a fresh straw this time. He’s chewed his first one so much that it’s basically stopped working. He nods gratefully to Abed as he closes his lips around the new straw, slurping his drink up with ease. Abed looks at his glass consideringly for a moment. “I feel like that might be significant,” he says. “Sometimes people’s signature drinks mean something to them. Or it’s connected to their backstory somehow. It’s kind of a weird character building device, but.”_

_He shrugs, and then looks at Troy expectantly. Troy raises a wary eyebrow._

_“You want me to tell you what a 7 and 7 says about my personality?” He asks. “I don’t know. It was my uncle’s favorite drink. He died right before my 21st birthday, some of my friends took me out to a bar for the first time, and… I guess I was just thinking about him when I ordered. So, it doesn't mean anything. Sorry.”_

_He looks down into his glass as he sucks some more drink through his straw. When he glances up at Abed, he sees that he’s still giving him a curious look._

_“What?” He asks._

_Abed nods toward the glass. “You just said that whole thing about your uncle, and then said the drink doesn’t mean anything. But I think it does.”_

_Troy lets the straw fall from his mouth and sits back a little to give Abed an appraising look. He’s not sure what he’s going for with this sudden deep conversation, but it intrigues him just enough that he’s not ready yet to brush it off._

_(Plus, he doesn’t mind getting to stare at Abed for a little longer. Has he mentioned that he’s_ really _hot?)_

_“What’s that supposed to mean?” Troy asks._

_Abed purses his lips thoughtfully, then tilts his head as his eyes meet Troy’s again._

_“Were you close with your uncle?”_

_Troy opens his mouth to answer, then closes it. Is he about to spill his life story to some bartender he just met? Some very alluring bartender, to be fair, but still—just some bartender?_

_“Yeah, I guess,” he answers, after he’s had a moment to think. “He taught me how to throw a football. My dad was never around that much, he worked a lot. And when he wasn’t working, he didn’t really have the energy to play with me. So I spent a lot of time with Uncle Carl. He was fun.”_

_He feels a dull pang in his chest that makes him pause and furrow his eyebrows, gaze drifting over towards Abed’s shoulder to stare at the wall behind him instead of making eye contact._

_“...I miss him.”_

_He sits with that for a minute._

_When he does look back at Abed, he’s still wearing the same open, curious expression. He’s also fidgeting with a napkin, one of the fancy cloth ones they use to wrap silverware, nimble fingers folding and unfolding in different directions. Troy thinks he’s just doing it idly at first, but then upon closer inspection, realizes that it’s kind of taking shape._

_“So that’s what the 7 and 7 says about you,” Abed says, drawing Troy’s attention away from his hands and back up to his face. “You miss your uncle.”_

_Troy nods slowly, unsure of how else he’s supposed to react to this new bit of information._

_“Abed?” Annie’s voice interrupts them from the other end of the bar. She’s facing away from them, salting the rim of a margarita glass. “Have you got table 3?”_

_“Sure,” Abed replies easily, eyes darting quickly in her direction and then back. He reaches into the front pocket of his flannel for a pen and a small notepad. “Be right back,” he tells Troy as he clicks the pen. Troy’s not sure why he feels disappointed about Abed needing to step away, but he does, pulling his lower lip in between his teeth and watching him as he walks out from behind the bar. He heads off to a small table in the corner and Troy sighs, lowering his gaze to the countertop only to find that the napkin has been placed right in front of him like an offering, folded pretty decently into the finished product._

_It’s a swan._

  
  


***

  
  


Troy’s thinking about the swan the next morning, as his tired eyes adjust to daylight and Abed sleeps peacefully beside him. 

They managed to separate during the night, Abed’s arms now wrapped around a pillow instead of around Troy, hugging it to his cheek as he breathes in deep, even breaths and the occasional soft snore. He looks content. Troy does his best to lie perfectly still, not wanting to rouse Abed from his nice slumber by jostling the bed or making any noise. 

He’s also thinking about a lot of things besides the swan, as he replays last night over in his head and tries to sort out how he’s feeling. 

What he’d felt last night was attraction. Lust, want, desire; a craving for a type of physical intimacy that Abed had delivered on just beautifully. He’s reminded of that when he tries to stretch his body out and feels a sharp soreness in his ass. He winces, but he’s not upset. The whole thing was new and scary, but with Abed he’d felt safe and assured and good. He’s sure the sex was a good idea. 

Very sure. 

...Almost sure. 

...Probably. 

He shakes the doubt away. The sex was great. He feels like a weight’s been lifted, like he can breathe easier now that he’s gotten this thing out of his system that’s been winding him up inside for so long. He knows what it feels like, finally, to have sex with a man. The answer is: it feels good. Really, really good. 

That, however, poses a new set of problems. 

Troy isn’t exactly in denial about his sexuality. Going to Tessie’s last night had been kind of a spontaneous decision, but not an accident. He knew what he was walking into. He knows why every relationship with a girl he’s ever had has ended in a crushing sense of guilt. It’s just easier to pretend, most of the time, that he’s _not_ like that.

Pretending is gonna be harder now.

He’s careful when he slips out of bed, steps deliberate and quiet as he gathers up his clothes and dresses himself. The last thing he does is step into his sneakers, fold his jacket over his arm and take one more look at Abed, feeling a small, sad tug in his chest before he steps out of the room.

He closes the door to Abed’s room with a quiet _click,_ then lets out a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.

“Troy?”

He’s startled by Annie’s voice and whirls around to see her standing in the kitchen. She’s wearing a tank top and sleep shorts, hair pulled back messily, leaning against the kitchen counter with a bowl of cereal in her hands. She sleepily rubs one eye. “What’re you doing here?”

God, that’s right. Annie doesn’t know about Abed taking him home last night; his shift ended an hour before hers.

 _Well,_ he thinks as she glances in between him and Abed’s closed bedroom door, and understanding dawns in her expression, _she knows now._

“Oh,” she sets her bowl down on the counter beside her, corner of her mouth turning up in a bit of a smile. “You and Abed, huh?”

“It’s not a big deal,” he takes a few hurried steps towards her, hoping she’ll lower her voice if he’s standing closer. He doesn’t know why he feels nervous; it’s not like Annie’s looking at him judgmentally. In fact, she seems kind of pleased. Less so after his last statement, though.

“Oh,” she glances at Abed’s bedroom door again. “So… you’re not into him?”

“What? No, I—” he sighs and looks at the door too, then back at Annie. “I like him fine, but it was just a hook-up. I don’t date guys.”

Okay, now she _doesn’t_ actually look so pleased.

“Oh,” is all she says again, though.

Then his heart drops when he hears the creak of a door opening behind him. He already knows from the way that Annie’s looking over his shoulder, but he turns back anyway to see Abed standing there, leaning against the doorframe.

“Hey,” Abed’s voice is soft and raspy with sleep, curls a little messier after being slept on, eyes slightly puffy and tired-looking. “I thought I heard you get up.”

He’s wearing the same boxer briefs as last night, along with a wrinkled t-shirt. It’s dark blue and galaxy-patterned and says _Inspector Spacetime,_ which Troy’s never heard of in his life. Is it a show? Movie? Comic?

Whatever it is, sounds like it’s for dorks. 

Not that Troy can really judge after the way Abed fucked him last night… and his own secret collection of Spiderman figurines under his bed. _Secret_ being the operative word, though.

“Yeah,” Troy rubs the back of his neck as Abed approaches him. “Sorry, I was trying to be quiet. Didn’t wanna wake you up.”

His stomach flutters nervously as Abed gets closer.

“S’okay,” Abed shrugs. He pauses in front of Troy for a second, rests one hand on his hip, and then presses a warm, gentle kiss to his cheek. 

…And then keeps walking, across the kitchen and into the bathroom. The door shuts and Troy hears the sound of water running as the shower turns on. He looks back at Annie in confusion, but she just seems amused.

“Did you think he was gonna make it awkward?” She asks knowingly, picking up her bowl again and scooping a bite of cereal into her mouth. “People always think he will. But don’t worry, he’s not gonna chase after you. You’re free.”

“Oh,” Troy ponders that, pressing his lips together thoughtfully. “...Okay, well. Good.”

He feels even more awkward standing in the kitchen now, Annie seemingly looking straight through him as she eats her cereal, with the sound of Abed’s shower running in the background.

“I… guess I should go, then,” he adds. He pats his pockets to make sure he’s got everything—phone, wallet, keys; check—before walking over to the door.

“Okay,” Annie says. “It was good to see you again, Troy.”

He turns to face her one more time with his hand on the doorknob. The smile that he gives her is approximately half-genuine.

“Yeah,” he nods. “You too.”

And then he steps out the door.

  
  


***

  
  


_“You’ve been here a pretty long time,” Abed notes. Troy pauses the game he’s playing on his phone and looks up to regard him. “From what I’ve seen on TV, that means you’re either completely devastated and seeking companionship, or there’s something at home that you really wanna avoid.”_

_It’s getting late, Abed’s right about that. The dinner crowd is mostly filtered out, meaning Abed can spend more time at the bar with him—which is nice in some ways, but unsettling when he tries to engage in these slightly-too-real conversations._

_“Wouldn’t exactly be safe for me to drive home right now, would it?” Troy asks as a means of diversion, nodding to the half-empty drink glass in front of him._

_Abed looks at the glass, too. “Oh, that’s just plain 7-Up. I stopped putting alcohol in like, five drinks ago. You know how wasted you’d be right now if I hadn’t?”_

_Troy’s jaw drops in indignation. Abed seems unaffected._

_“Don’t worry,” he says, “They’re not going on your tab. Regular soda refills are free.”_

_Troy closes his mouth. “Okay,” he grumbles, resting his elbows on the bar and dropping his head down into his hands, “that explains why I’m not buzzed at all.”_

_“Sorry,” Abed says. He doesn’t sound sorry, and he’s probably not, but it’s nice of him to say it anyway. “On the upside, you can drive home if you want.”_

_Troy gives him a calculating look, which Abed returns._

_“You know,” he adds. “If that’s really the reason you’re hanging around.”_

_Troy’s oddly taken aback by the sudden downward lilt in Abed’s voice… in a good way. He clears his throat and wipes his suddenly-sweaty palms on his jeans._

_“Well,” he breathes, making a point of maintaining eye contact, so he can see if they’re actually on the same page here. “...Maybe not the_ only _reason.”_

  
  


***

  
  


Ultimately, he finds himself grateful that Abed had elected not to overserve him last night, because at least now he doesn’t have to contend with a hangover as he makes the two-street walk from Annie and Abed’s apartment back to Tessie’s to retrieve his car.

The sky is gray and cloudy, temperature hot and air oppressively humid, so by the time he makes it to his car his forehead is coated in a thin sheen of sweat, t-shirt sticking to his torso uncomfortably. He immediately blasts the air conditioning to cool off, and then the radio to drown out any thoughts about Abed and last night and how much he’d liked it, and how strangely unsatisfied he’d felt when Abed had barely regarded him in the kitchen. 

_“Don’t worry, he’s not gonna chase after you.”_

Not exactly a phrase he’s used to hearing. But… good, right? His life is already enough of a mess right now. No-strings-attached is just what he needs.

His mom is sitting at the kitchen table when he walks into his house, newspaper spread out in front of her and a steaming mug of coffee held to her lips. Troy wrinkles his nose—they could be standing on the surface of the sun, and she still wouldn’t forgo hot coffee for iced. Personally, he feels like he’s overheating just looking at her.

“Well, look who decided to grace me with his presence,” she says as he approaches her, a teasing glint in her eyes. “One day back in town and you’re already Mr. Popular again, hm? Out partying all night with your old friends?”

Right, that was his cover story for last night, he remembers. Going out to see his high school friends. Actually, he just couldn’t stand sitting in his bedroom, all his football trophies and star athlete awards mocking him from the shelves. Seeing his old football buddies would’ve rubbed more salt in the wound, really. 

Hence the spontaneous, aimless evening drive.

And hence, Tessie’s. 

“Sorry,” he says around a yawn, scratching the back of his neck. “I should’ve told you I wasn’t coming home.”

“Well, better that than you trying to drive home drunk,” she says, setting her mug down and folding the newspaper in half. “You know the rules about that.”

Troy nods obediently. 

“Anyhow,” she continues, standing up from her chair and then folding the newspaper again, into neat quarters. “I have to go into the office for a bit today. There’s plenty of food for lunch, okay? I even bought those frozen waffles that you like.”

He can’t help but smile a little as she presses a kiss to his cheek on her way out the door. 

“Thanks, Mama,” he says quietly. She pulls back to look him over, and he can tell she’s trying to mask her concern.

“You’ll be okay by yourself, right?” She asks. “I know you’re probably feeling—”

“I’ll be fine,” he interrupts before she can finish that thought. He gives her the most genuine look he can. “Promise.”

She nods, seemingly satisfied. 

“Well in that case, make sure you take a shower. You stink.”

He snorts out a laugh as she kisses his cheek again before heading out the door.

  
  


***

  
  


He thinks about Abed in the shower. He starts off with cold water, gradually cooling his body down, then adjusting to a warmer temp. The cold water is nice; it doesn’t give him any problems. The hot water, on the other hand… reminds him of Abed’s warm hands all over him, heated kisses all over his body, hot breath against his neck and shoulders. Reminds him of Abed laid out on top of him, overwhelming his senses, making him see stars. Reminds him of the sweat beading on his own lower back as Abed pushed inside of him, gently worked him open, then fucked him so good that he’d all but forgotten his own name.

 _So good,_ he thinks, sighing in resignation as he feels the blood rushing in between his legs. _So, so fucking good._

He closes his eyes, hot water beating against his back as he touches himself, squeezing and tugging a couple times to bring himself to full hardness before taking himself in hand. 

_Yeah, like that,_ he hears Abed’s voice in his head as he starts stroking himself. _God, you’re sexy._

Remembering the praise raises goosebumps on his skin, despite the temperature of the water. He sucks in a breath and adjusts the flick of his wrist, pumping a little faster. 

_Fuck, Troy, you feel so_ fucking _good._

With his free hand, he reaches behind himself, trailing two fingers down his crack until he finds his hole and pushes down on it with a gentle pressure. 

Yup, still sore. Amazingly sore. He presses down again, dick throbbing in his hand as he does. He shudders out a moan as he finds a rhythm with both hands, just the tip of his middle finger breaching his hole to remind him how it’d felt to be fucked there. 

It’s both satisfying and unsatisfying—a nice feeling, but Abed had filled him up so much better. 

“Fuck,” he whispers.

_Oh my god, moan like that again. That was so hot._

_“Fuck,”_ he moans softly again, obeying Abed’s voice in his head. His toes curl as his hand moves faster and faster until finally he’s cumming with a bitten-back cry. He tips his head back into the hot water as he savors the moment, squeezing one last time at the head of his cock to make sure he’s got it all out.

He opens his eyes, examining his semen-webbed fingers with a casual sort of interest. 

_Cool,_ he thinks, then sticks his hand under the water and watches as everything rinses down the drain.

He steps out of the shower clean and satisfied—satisfied enough that he doesn’t even freak out over getting off to the same guy twice in one day. Future Troy will have plenty of time to worry about that.

For now, he simply crawls into bed and drifts off, the phantom recollection of a certain heartbeat lulling him easily to sleep.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> as always, find me on lgbtrobed.tumblr.com, somehow being even bigger trobed trash than i am on here.
> 
> thanks for reading!! comments mean the world ❤️


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